


Royal Blood, Royal Hands

by hyrulehobbit



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternia, Alternia is a feudal kingdom basically, Alternian Empire, Gen, High Fantasy, I will make more detailed posts about the nature of the AU as I go, Kingdomstuck, Multi, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, miracrails, pale gamkar, possible past karezi, tagged as gen because although there are ships they are not central to the plot, there's possible reds between karkat and terezi but they're just very close and affectionate friends, think "game of thrones but with aliens", with families and thrones and politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 06:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7212177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyrulehobbit/pseuds/hyrulehobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(What if: Alternia was run like a feudal fantasy kingdom)</p><p>The King, The Grand Highblood, is dying.</p><p>His first born son has abandoned the family name, leaving his much too young second born as heir to the throne.</p><p>But is the shy and awkward Gamzee ready for such responsibility?</p><p>(Character perspective stated at the beginning of each chapter)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I abandon my name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prince Gamzee Makara

"No."

"... _No?!_ "

Your brother stands tall, staring down your father. Your father stares back, incredulous, one thick eyebrow arched in disbelief.

" _Say no to me one more time, motherfucker..._ " he warns.

"I will. _No._ And I mean it."

Kurloz never was one to follow warnings.

You look between the two of them, not saying a word. You're certain that if you did open your mouth, nothing but a wrigglerish squeak would come out. You can barely believe your own ears and eyes at what is unfolding before you over supper. You're dining in your father's quarters tonight, but dinner has barely been touched, the grubloaf getting colder and more unappealing by the second. You poke at your serving with your fork and pretend to be suddenly very interested in the texture and hope that they stop arguing.

"Kurloz, I'm warning you." your father growls, a low threatening rumble building deep within his vast chest. Your brother, older than you by 3 sweeps still stands by the dinner table, hands folded behind his back, unsmiling and not once breaking your father's stern gaze. He hadn't even sat down for dinner, how long had he been planning this?

Your father, The King, takes a long sip of red wine from his goblet. He swallows slowly, deliberately, and places it back on the table with a clack. Everything else is deathly silent.

"You are a Makara." he finally continues, his voice low "More than that, you are my first born. My son. _My heir._ " his large fist closes around the handle of his fork, squeezing. "And you mean to come in here to tell me you wish to throw that all away on-"

"On what, father?" Kurloz interjects. His demeanor never fucking fails to astound you. Two seconds under your father's gaze and you crumble, but Kurloz always has this way of remaining so mother fucking calm. You wonder what emotions are boiling under his skin, under his paint.  
Before your father can answer the rhetorical question, Kurloz speaks up again.

"Ever since the first moment I done stepped into the Church, I knew deep down in my pusher that it was where I was meant to be. You are a righteous man, father, but I always be hearing the Messiah's call louder than you ever did, you know this."

The king does not answer, but his grip on his fork loosens.

"I won't be throwing away my life, Father. For once I'll be giving it mother fucking _meaning._ "

You can hear the pleading in your brother's voice. Shit. He really does want this a whole lot.

Your father grunts in response, before carefully picking up his knife and sawing away at the now-cold meat on his plate, not looking up.

"So. What now? All your training gone to waste? The plans for your coronation? Do you have any motherfucking idea how much time and money has gone into this?!" he hisses. His knife has sliced through the meat and is now grinding against the plate, producing a horrid shrill grating noise that makes your ears flatten against your skull.

"I...am sorry I did not make my desires clear sooner." Kurloz's unshakable calm falters ever so slightly "I did not wish to disappoint you, father."

"Yeah? Little motherfucking late for that, _boy._ " the king bites back, and realises he's almost begun to slice the plate in two. He slams the cutlery down and lets out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl. He runs his big hands through his thick, braided hair, leaning back in his chair.

"Tell me what exactly it is you want, Kurloz. In plain motherfucking words." he calmly demands, and your brother shifts slightly, clearing his throat. Motherfucker's been rehearsing this part, that much you can tell.

"I am abdicating the throne. I will not rule our kingdom as you have done before me, father, for my calling lies elsewhere. I will abandon my name to become a monk of the Mirthful Messiah's, dedicating myself and the entirety of my being to them for the rest of my span. I will lead a humble life in the monastery, free from distractions. I will take a vow of silence, in hope that by refraining from speech I shall learn to listen. I will take no quadrants, I will sire no offspring. This is the life I have chosen."

A brief silence.

"No quadrants huh?" your father retorts, not missing a beat "This better not be anything to do with that olive peasant girl from last summer."

Your eyes widen, and Kurloz flinches, if only for a second. But any emotional response he had to your father's cutting remark is quickly gone.

"No. I have wanted this ever since I began to walk on two legs. She...that... is nothing to do with it."

You could be imagining, but you're certain you see your father's mouth twitch briefly into a smile. Amusing himself by causing your brother discomfort seems to be helping him to deal with tonight's events. A reflective silence falls.

"So. What in the motherfuck am I meant to do now?"

You look at him, then. You see the streaks of white and grey that run through his braids. You see the tiredness of his ancient face, even under his paint. And his horns, tall and magnificent as they still are, are not as bright as they once were. His many sweeps have dulled them. He's old, you realise.

And then, simultaneously, your brother and father both suddenly remember that you are in the room.

They turn to look at you at the same time and you fluster under their gazing, coughing awkwardly. Kurloz wrings his hands shyly and your father clears his throat, letting out a wheezing breath. Soon one small cough descends into a fit of hacking and choking. His large fists grip the tablecloth and his long shuddery breaths have a horrible rattling noise to them. You and Kurloz share a worried glance and go to move towards your father, but he holds up his hand to stop you before your ass even leaves your seat.  
The coughing subsides and the three of you stay motionless and silent, save for your father regulating his breathing quietly.

"I'm fine." he mutters on an out breath, clearing his throat once more and sitting up "Kurloz, Gamzee, off to sleep the both of you. We'll talk in the morning." and with that, he is gone, leaving you and your older brother alone.

More silence. You may not be the brightest, but you weren't hatched yesterday. You know your father isn't fine. Not really.  
Kurloz looks at you, and you wonder if his holy vow of silence has already begun, until he finally speaks up.

"Sorry about all that fine mess, little brother."

"No...s'okay." you shrug.

"Goodnight." he says, with a gentle nod, before departing.

You sit alone at the table and exhale, running your hand through your unruly waves. Your father's question from before echoes in your mind.

_What in the motherfuck am I meant to do now?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is to be done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord Darkleer Dmitri Zahhak

The King pounds his fists against the nearest wall, and a few specks of it crumble away.

"-fucking INSOLENT little...how dare...TALK TO ME LIKE THAT MOTHERFUCKING IMPERTINENT SHITMOUTHED... _BRAT!_ "

"Sire, please remain calm."

He looks at you like you just asked him to defecate gold, and you flinch ever so slightly.

"CALM? CALM?!"

"Sire please...for your health..."

He huffs through his nostrils and cards his big hands through his hair, growling with rage.

"Fine. Fine. I'm calm. Never been fucking calmer..."

Deep within you, you feel the basest animal need to reach out and gently touch him, to help bring that calm about, but you quickly quell the desire. That would be wildly inappropriate.  
Instead, you wring your hands and watch as he slumps into the nearest chair, head in hands.

" _Just what the motherfuck am I meant to do, Dmitri?_ "

The sudden change knocks you off-balance slightly. He sounds defeated. And so _tired._

You take a few calculated breaths before approaching, sitting in the chair beside him.

"...there's no changing his mind?" you venture. He lifts his head and shakes it slowly, leaning back in the seat.

"No. I could damn well try, but even I can see there'd be no use in it. Fucking stubborn wriggler has made up his mind."

"A trait that does appear to run in the family." you jest cautiously, and sigh in relief when your King lets out a dry chuckle.

"Aye, that it motherfucking does."

A silence ensues that you like to think of as being a comfortable one. You'd been in the service of your king for as long as he had sat on the throne, and it was not uncommon for their to be moments between the two of you such as this.  
He reaches into the inner pocket of his coat, producing an ornate smoking pipe and a small drawstring pouch.

"Your Highness-" you protest.  
"How many times?" he mumbles with a glare.  
" _Kurloz-_ "  
"I won't fucking hear it. Let an old dying troll have his pleasures Dmitri, Messiah's sakes."

You know there's no use arguing with him (you thought the medicullers had confiscated all his pipes, and yet he keeps producing more) so you simply sigh and watch as he stuffs the pipe with the blend of herbs and soporofic leaf. He pats down his pockets looking for a light, but you swiftly produce a packet of matches from your own pocket and strike one for him, leaning in. His rich purple eyes meet yours as the leaves catch alight and you shift nervously in your seat, wafting out the match and quickly leaning back. The king inhales long and deep, and relaxes back, holding the smoke in his lungs before billowing out an elegant cloud of green-tinged smoke.

You let the silence hang in the air alongside the smoke for a moment longer before speaking up.

"So... you will stay on the throne?"

He grunts.

"Do I have any other choice?" he grumbles "I don't _want_ to sit on that chair til I'm nothing but a wheezing bag of motherfucking bones. I want my people to remember me as their King, not some miserable old fucker who can't even wield a fork, let alone a club."

You nod and steeple your fingers under your chin, exhaling through your nose.

"I understand, Sire- _Kurloz._ " you correct yourself "Forgive me My Lord but...aren't you forgetting someone?"

He takes another drag of his pipe and arches an eyebrow at you.

"Gamzee?"  
"Gamzee."

He sighs at length.

"He's still a boy, Dmitri."  
"His eighth hatchday isn't too far away."  
"He's nowhere near ready. Kurloz had been undergoing training for almost a fuckin sweep now." he growls bitterly, running a hand through his hair again.

"So train the boy. We may have to speed things up a little, skip a few details over to get him crowned faster. But then you could rule as regent until his training is completed. He'd be the public face for the planet whilst you operate from the sidelines."

Kurloz exhales a smoke ring and cups his chin thoughtfully, mulling it over in his pan.

"And then..." you go to continue.

"And then I can fuckin' die in peace."

The way he talks of his death so casually affects you greatly. You can feel the inevitability and sadness gnawing quietly at your stomach and you want to reach out and touch him again, to pluck up the courage before it's too late. But you push the desires firmly out of pan. Wildly. Inappropriate.

If you had been staring at him, he thankfully did not notice. His thoughts were clearly far away, eyes gazing into the middle distance at nothing in particular. And then he speaks softly.

"Kurloz would have made a fine king."  
"I know, Your Grace."

He sighs yet again, sadly. His voice is quiet.

"Gamzee-"  
" -Will learn." you finish for him. "He will make a good king. Perhaps better than his brother, in time. We just have to be patient."

A long pause. A nod.

"Fine. It shall be done. Send a message to The Empress. I'm going to fuckin' bed."

He tips the burnt-out ashes from the pipe into a handkerchief, pocketing them both before rising from the chair. On his way up, a rattling cough suddenly seizes his vast frame and he grips the arm of the chair tightly. You go to stand, stricken with worry before he halts you with a big hand.

"M'fine." he breathes deeply, straightening himself up "Goodnight, Dmitri."

He nods his head and strides proudly from the room. You watch him go.

"Goodnight, Sire."

_____________________

**From: Lord D. D. Zahhak.  
To: Her Imperious Condescension.**

  _Prince Kurloz of Alternia, Second of his name, first born son of the King and heir to the throne, has abandoned the Makara name to live a life of religious zealour as a monk of the Mirthful Messiahs._

_Prince Gamzee Makara of Alternia, First of his name and second born son of the King is now the sole heir to the throne. His training begins on his Eighth Hatchday, and will conclude with his coronation by his Ninth Hatchday._

_Until that day, the King will remain on the throne. Long May He Reign, and Long May You Conquer._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prince says his farewells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ~~Prince Kurloz Makara~~ Brother Kurloz.

Clothes. Paints. Brushes. Horn varnish...

No. There will be no need for such vanity in the monastery. You discard the varnish.

Is this too many clothes?

You huff, taking out a pair of breeches and tossing them to the floor. This was the sixth time this morning you'd packed, unpacked and re-packed your travelling case and it wasn't even noon. A lot of your clothes are useless to you now simply because they are all embroidered with your family sign. A sign that means nothing to you anymore.

No longer Kurloz Makara, Prince Makara, Your Highness.

Simply Brother Kurloz. A name that feels fitting and right.

It took you far too long to admit that the Makara name was not an honor to bear, but a burden. Even your forename sometimes left a bitter taste in your mouth. To carry the same hatchname as _that man_...your father.

Why did he have to bring _her_ up at dinner?! Did he think it was all some choice motherfucking joke?!

Your hands ball up in your hair as a tide of rage briefly washes over you, but you quell it with a few deep breaths and it ebbs away as quickly as it arrived. What happened between you and her and him still stings fresh sometimes, but the past is the past and what is done is done. You _have_ to move forward now. It’s the only way for you to finally find the peace you so desperately seek.

You let out a small sigh and drop backwards to sit on the edge of your four-poster king sized bed, feeling the silken sheets beneath your fingers. There will be no such luxuries where you are going.

It's almost funny to you, and you feel Messiah Mirthful tugging a playful smile from your lips. You have become so very accustomed to a life of riches and finery, and yet you know you will not miss it at all. Any of it.

 

_"Do you really have to go?"_

 

The voice cuts through your thoughts, small and sad and verging on tears. You turn your head so rapidly you damn near snap your own neck.

Well, there is one thing you will miss.

Your little brother stands in the doorway of your bedchamber, his arms folded around himself making him look real small. His wide eyes flit between you and your suitcase, and you notice his jaw trembling ever so slightly as he tries so hard to swallow the tears.

You give him an encouraging smile and rise from the bed, walking across the room with your arms outstretched to gather him into a hug. He's let out the first sob before you even reach him, his hands reach out and grip your overshirt as he hides his face in your chest and cries. You shoosh him ever so gentle, patting his back soothingly, and you rest your chin on the top of his head, nestled right between his horns.

"There there, brother mine. Hush now. The world ain't ending."

"I kn-kn-know," he stammers out, taking in a shuddery breath "I just...just wish y-you didn't hafta go."

You pull back so you can look at him, with your hands gently on his shoulders.

"I hear you, I wish I didn't have to leave either. But I must. This ain't my path. I never belonged here and I never will."

He sniffles and nods, looking up at you. Purple tear-tracks run through his paint and he wipes his face with his sleeve, smearing a bit.

"Oh. S-sorry, brother." He mumbles, pointing at your chest. You look down and spot a few white and grey smudges, and you chuckle.

"S'okay. No worry. I never done liked this shirt anyways." You shrug and grin, and your brother manages a toothy smile back up at you. You ruffle his hair.

"Wanna help me pack?"

He nods with enthusiasm and the two of you spend the morning rifling through your stuff and folding your clothes. It is moments like this when you feel the touch of Messiah Mirthful the strongest. So long had you spent at high court parties and small council meetings that you had forgotten how pleasant it was spending time with your younger brother. You sure were going to miss him.

"You sure you don't need no more clothes?" Gamzee asks you, scratching his head and peering into your case. The two of you had managed to narrow it down to the bare essentials. You tap your chin and nod.

"Nah. I won't need much. With my fellow church kin, the Messiahs, and prayer, I'll have everything I need." You bend down and close the lid of the case with a heavy thud, clicking the latches into place.

Gamzee hums in thought and perches on the edge of your bed.

"You're real lucky, brother. Must be nice knowing what the Messiahs have in store for you." he muses.

"The Messiahs have a plan for us all, Gam." You say, moving to sit beside him "They got big plans for you, that's for sure."

His eyes brighten in awe.

"You think so?"

"I knows so."

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair, exactly like your father does. You've caught yourself making the same gesture more than once, too.

"Kurloz...what if they want me to be king?”

"Gamzee-"

"I ain't ready for something like that! I don't know the first motherfucking thing about being king! And with you gone I ain't gonna have nobody to talk to and I don’t know nobody in the court and...The Empress! And what if Dad dies and and and-"

" _Gamzee!_ " You put your hand firmly on his shoulder and give him a gentle shake, quelling the panic that was bubbling up in his voice.

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, and out through his mouth.

"I'm sorry, I..." He starts

"It's ok. Have a little faith, brother. The Messiahs sometimes throw challenges our way, but they also give us the tools to navigate them. I believe in you. And I know that you can do this."

He sighs and nods.

"Father believes in you, too. I know he and I ain't always see eye to eye, but deep down he knows what be best for us. Look after the old fucker for me, will you?"

Gamzee giggles and nods, and you rub your knuckles into his skull.

"Thanks for helping me pack, brother."

He shrugs.

"Ain't no trouble."

You take a moment to look around your bedchamber; your room since you were but a wriggler, the possessions you had collected over your relatively short sweeps.

"I'm taking everything I need with me. The rest is yours." You gesture to the whole of the room. Your wardrobes and chests are still fit to bursting with clothes, jewellery and trinkets.

Gamzee's eyes widen endearingly and his mouth almost drops open.

"For real?!"

You chuckle at his genuine disbelief.

"Of course for real."

His mouth splits into a wide grin and his flings his long arms around your shoulders. He butts his head roughly against yours, and you laugh, turning your head slightly to interlock your horns. The two of you stay like that for some time.

"When are you leaving?" he asks in a small voice.

"My carriage is coming to collect me tonight."

He sighs and pulls away from your shoulder.

"Will...Will you write?" He asks. You shake your head.

"Not at first. Communication with the outside world is forbidden for newer brothers, letters would count as disrupting my holy vow of silence. But once I am fully inducted, I believe I am permitted one letter per sweep, and that letter will be for you without any doubt."

He mulls this over, chewing his bottom lip sadly. But then he looks up and nods.

"Ok."

"This ain't goodbye, Gamzee. That's a motherfucking promise."

"It better be." He jests, and the two of you smile.

You both sigh and sit in quiet for some, observing the stillness of your room.

"I'm gonna miss you, brother."

"I'm gonna miss you too."

 

* * *

 

The twin suns have almost sunk below the horizon, casting the sky in glorious pinks, oranges and bloody purples; all blurred together like a miraculous painting.

At the bottom of the grassy hillock upon which Castle Makara sits, your carriage awaits. It is simple and small, driven by a brownblood and pulled by two six-legged hoofbeasts. It will suffice just fine, you only have the one case.

You wanted to carry the case down yourself but the servants insisted on doing it for you, as one last service to the Prince before he leaves. The staff turnover is of course high at the castle (lowbloods ain’t so resilient after all) but there’s the select handful who worked hard enough to please your father that they’ve been there since you were a wriggler.

Once they have your case safely in the carriage, you shake their hands in goodbye. Such a gesture is enough of an honour in itself, and the two of them nod in gratitude, clasping your arm with misted eyes. You nod, and they are dismissed.

“All set, Your Highness?” The hoofman atop the carriage asks.

You hold your hand up to halt him and turn to face the castle. Not yet.

Gamzee hurtles down the hill, almost tripping over his gangly limbs he hasn’t quite grown into yet, and your sullen mouth curls into a smile.

You’re almost knocked backward when he collides with you, and the pair of you embrace fiercely. He’s not crying this time. In fact, he’s smiling. He’s happy for you, and it makes your blood pusher sing.

“Don’t have too much fun, Brother.” He says with a toothy grin.

You ruffle his unruly curls.

“And don’t you get into too much trouble without me.” You retort.

 _It’s not goodbye_ , you have to remind yourself when a painful lump threatens to rise in your throat. Not goodbye forever.

You were so focused on Gamzee that you failed to notice your father standing right behind him.

Gamzee glances over his shoulder at The King and shuffles quietly aside. Now there’s nothing to separate you from his gaze, nowhere to run and hide. You meet his eyes with chin raised and a fire to rival his own. But even now you’re grown you still cannot deny his fearsome awe. So tall, how small he still manages to make you feel.

For a while, neither of you move or speak. Just stand in wordless acknowledgement. Even this is enough, you think. You weren’t even expecting him to see you off.

But then he reaches out his arm and his words astonish you.

“ _Messiahs smile with you._ ” He says quietly.

A simple traditional parting blessing. And those few words were all you needed your ears to hear. They carry a thousand words that the big motherfucker will never say out loud, but you know.

_I accept you. I understand. I will feel your absence keenly. I am sorry._

It takes you a moment, and you’re certain that your usual composure has failed completely and that he’s reading your face like a damn novel. But you extend your hand and the two of you clasp forearms.

“ _And with you_ , Father.”

Once last look at your family, your former home, and the setting sun, before you withdraw your arm and pivot on your heels, stepping up into the carriage. The door swings shut behind you, and you rap your knuckles twice on the ceiling. The lowblood cracks the whip and the hoofbeasts spur forwards taking you away into the new and blissful unknown.

  
You do not look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, if you've been waiting for this, thank you SO MUCH for your patience. I have been in a terrible slump but I'm working at getting un-slumped and I finally knuckled down and got this chapter finished.
> 
> Secondly, shout out to my gal [@squeezedoutofmiracles](http://archiveofourown.org/users/squeezedoutofmiracles/pseuds/squeezedoutofmiracles) for beta editing, yelling at me and being a top cheerreader and motivator. Thanks boo.
> 
> Thirdly, I have no set writing shedule (haha man I should really get me one of those) so cannot promise frequent updates. hOWEVER, I can assure you that this fic IS still in progress and I have no plans on hanging it up (still a homestuck in the year of our messiahs 2017). So there will be plenty more kingdomstuck dramas coming your way, hopefully sooner rather than later! Another key character is joining the cast next chapter, so you have that to look forward to!
> 
> Until then, feel free to hit me up on [tumblr!](http://hyrulehobbit.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord Darkleer Dmitri Zahhak

“Sire, surely there is something we can do?”

“What?”

“ _Look_ at him.”

 

The two of you observe Gamzee from across the room. The Prince is sat in a high backed chair near the window arch, staring out of it into the courtyard below. He has been there for almost two hours.

 

“His schoolfeeding session ended almost two hours ago and he hasn’t moved since.” You utter in a stage whisper. Even if the prince can hear you, he makes no show of it. He just continues to stare out into nothingness and sigh, chin in his hand.

“Hm.” The king grunts. You know him well enough to interpret this particular grunt as a sign of agreement.

 

He scratches his chin for a moment, observing Gamzee some more, before looking at you and jerking his head towards the doorway. You scurry out after him, and the door clicks shut before either of you speak.

 

“He ain’t rightly been himself since…” the king pauses a moment, exhaling a sigh.

“...I know.” you finish for him.

 

Three perigees have passed since the elder prince left. A long enough time to somewhat soften the blow, but nowhere near long enough for anyone to have come to terms with the matter.

In a moment of absent-mindedness, you place a pacifying hand on his bicep. And to your complete surprise, he accepts the gesture with gratitude. He even briefly covers your hand with his own larger one, half-way between a squeeze and a pat. You expect yourself to startle, for your pusher to leap in shock, but you do not. You inhale and exhale together. The entire exchange is simple, natural, and over as quickly as it begun as you both withdraw your hands.

He speaks again, this time quieter.

 

“In truth, I don’t be knowin how to fix this.” He mutters, defeated. “I’m doin all I can for him. Just… carrying the motherfuck on as usual, you feel? Extra schoolfeedin’, more paintin’ class, even threw a ball for the equinox and he didn’t say a damned word to anyone all evenin’.”

 

He huffs, running his hand through his thick hair, scratching at the base of his worn-looking horns. You hum to yourself and ponder the matter, chewing on a nail.

 

Life in the castle was a sheltered one. It had never really occurred to you nor been your business to comment, but Kurloz had been Gamzee’s only friend. He’d always been the more shy of the two, following his older brother everywhere he went. As a wriggler he’d hide behind his father’s leg whenever confronted with a stranger.

And now that prince Kurloz was no longer in the picture, there was no one who could fill that gap for his young majesty. It did not surprise you that Gamzee had not spoken to anyone at the ball, as there was no one in the court of his age.

 

And then it takes all but a second before you have the solution. You snap your fingers in a moment of ‘eureka’.

 

 _How_ had it not occurred to you until now?! He was not to begin his training for several sweeps, but what with recent circumstances changing, it would make perfect sense-

 

“What? WHAT?!” Kurloz barks at you.

 

Your thoughts had been racing so far ahead you had not even noticed him trying to get your attention.

 

“Ah, Apologies.” You mutter “But...I think I have the answer.”

“Oh?” He quirks a thick brow “And what would that be?”

 

“Equius.”

 

* * *

 

“Equius?” You gently push your youngest son forward. “You remember His Highness Prince Gamzee, correct?”

 

Equius says nothing. Instead, he immediately drops to one knee at the prince’s feet, head bowed. He then, to everyone’s surprise, takes Gamzee’s hand and kisses the back of it.

 

You are taken aback. Gamzee has never looked so bewildered. And across the room, the King cracks a smug smile of amusement.

 

“Ah, Equius? That is enough.” You pat his shoulder and he scrambles to his feet, quickly dusting off his clothes.

“Um. Yes. Well met once more, Your Highness.” He mutters softly with a final flourishing bow.

 

You clear your throat and fight the urge to smile, as across the room you can hear the King holding back a snicker of laughter and you _swear to his strange messiahs._

“Anyway.” You steer things back and place your hand on Equius’ shoulder “Your Highness, as you begin your training to take the throne, so will Equius begin his. Just as I serve your father, he will become your advisor and hand.”

 

The prince takes this in, looking from you, to his father, to Equius. And then he shrugs and nods… and smiles.

 

“Alright. Tha’scool.”

 

Well. That is the most you have seen out of him in quite some time. You and Kurloz share a cursory glance.

 

“Well then.” You continue “His Highness now has his lessons on political etiquette. Equius, would you escort him?”

Equius clears his throat and straightens his spine as he takes on his first duty.

“Yes father.” He nods. He shuffles over to Gamzee’s side and the two of them leave the room together.

 

A moment. And then, Kurloz lets out a little wheezy chuckle...which soon develops into a full blown hearty laugh, and you yourself can no longer resist the urge to smile as he walks toward you and claps a hand on your shoulder.

 

“What is so funny?” You ask, somewhat teasingly.

“Oh, ain’t nothin’.” He shrugs “He just all reminds me of a certain someone back on his first day on the job…”

 

He looks down at you with a grin, and you smile and shake your head. Oh, you remember _exactly_ how you were, and he is not at all wrong.

 

“I think he will take to the job very well.” you muse.

 

Kurloz nods in agreement, rooting in his shirt pocket for his smoking apparatus.

“This was a good motherfucking idea of yours.”

“Thank you, Sire.” You try not to look too outwardly pleased at the compliment “But I do not think we should stop there?”

 

His brow knits and he looks up from stuffing his pipe.

 

“Come again?”

“I… I mean. With the changing season… I think inviting more people of Gamzee’s age range to the court would be beneficial. Letting him develop a social circle now will prove helpful down the line.”

 

The leaf in his pipe fizzes as it catches alight and he takes a long draw before nodding at you.

 

“Send a message out to the court, and all the highblood houses. We’ll throw us another ball next perigee.”

“Very good, Your Hi-”

 

He throws you a look.

 

“-Kurloz.” You correct, and he smiles, turning to look out of the window.

 

“Gonna take me a walk. Mediculler says I gotta get some exercise. Escort me?”

 

You were about to pass comment about how smoking whilst taking said exercise would entirely defeat the purpose, but his humour catches you off guard and all you can do is shake your head in mock defeat.

 

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thank you so much for your patience in waiting for me to update!
> 
> As you may or may not know, I am currently writing this fic alongside my ongoing Adventure Time bubbline fic "I Adore You", and the way my update schedule has been working is that I take it in turns to update each one. Now that this chapter has been published, I will be updating IAY next! So my rough estimation for when you can expect updates is most likely once every two months? Or maybe more frequently if I work extra hard! But I'm currently in quite a busy period, so I will for now be aiming to update this in June.
> 
> Also, the way the story will continue from here will most likely be timeskipping in leaps between important events, rather than a view of the day-to-day goings on.
> 
> As always, shoutout to Jenny for being my wonderful beta and keeping this fic on its two feet.
> 
> Link to my [tumblr!](http://hyrulehobbit.tumblr.com) (you are highly encouraged to come and talk to me about this AU and I will happily talk your ears off) I cannot link to my Ko-Fi page here due to AO3's terms and conditions, but you will find it on my [writing page](http://hyrulehobbit.tumblr.com/fics) on tumblr! (Ko-Fi is like an online tip jar for creators where you can "buy me a coffee" and if you do I will probably cry.)
> 
> Til next time!
> 
> Soph.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Highblood Court, Mister Vantas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karkat Vantas

Everything about this is making you uncomfortable.

 

Your fancy clothes are itching. The horrible teal eye contacts are itching. And Terezi won’t stop fussing over you.

 

“Gods Terezi, cut it the fuck out.” You slap her hand away as she adjusts your collar.

“Sorry, you smelled crooked. All fixed now.”

 

You know she’s trying to help, but it’s making you more and more anxious. This was her plan. To ‘hide you in plain sight’ where no one would even suspect you might be… wrong.

Well, here goes. If it falls through you’re a dead troll walking, but they say the prince isn’t the sharpest knife in the artillery so you stand as good a chance at blending in as anyone.

Your carriage lurches to a halt and you’re pretty damn sure you left your stomach about 3 miles back.

 

“Ready?” She asks, as the coachtroll opens the door and lowers the steps.

“Shit, sure. Ready as I’ll ever be.”

 

You descend first and hold out your hand to help her down. She slips her arm through yours gracefully, and together you walk through the gilded archway entrance to the Grand High Court.

Holy.  _ Shit. _

“Your mouth is hanging open a little Karkat, I can smell your breath. And don’t slouch, you’re a midblood now.”

 

A perigee ago you were hiding from cullers in Kanaya’s cellar half way across the planet. Now, you’re surrounded by splendour, the likes of which you have never seen before. You feel like you might burst into flames.

But as you glance around you, at the torchlit courtyard full of noble-blooded figures in attire not too dissimilar to your own… you realise that this batshit plan just might work. You catch a glimpse of your reflection as you walk past a window, trussed up in the finest Maryam silks (thank you Kanaya), and hardly recognise yourself. But that doesn’t stop you from feeling every single fucking eye in the place staring at you, nor the paranoia creeping into your bones.

Do they know? Can they tell? Should you leave before it’s too late?

 

Apparently you were gripping Terezi’s arm too hard in fear, as she gives your hand a reassuring, almost-pale pat.

 

“Relax Cherrypie. We’re in.”

At that exact moment, Terezi handed her calling card to the lowblood attendant at the door and suddenly -

“Lady Pyrope and her chaperone, Mister Karkat Vantas.”

Well, there it is. Definitely no going back now.

 

Despite the fact you felt like your pusher was going to burst its way out of your chest, your entrance is fairly… uneventful. A wave of acknowledgement sweeps across the room, a few murmurs, but the string quartet in the corner continues to play undisturbed and soon enough the next pair of highbloods make their entrance and you are all but forgotten.

And that’s when it really hits you.

You’re in. You actually fucking did it. You’re  _ safe,  _ for now.

 

You look around and still have to convince yourself that you’re not fucking dreaming. You’re certain that most of the trolls in this room would advocate your death, and yet here you are right in front of them. That’s the genius thing: your name doesn’t matter. Cullers don’t take time to ask your name before spilling your faulty blood on the ground. So here is Mister Karkat Vantas, teal-blooded merchant, and as far as these self-absorbed fucks care, that’s exactly who you are.

You turn to Terezi, wanting to hug her, but you’re not so stupid to forget your midblood manners. So you give her a small squeeze on the arm and a simple, sincere:

 

“We did it. Thank you.”

She can sense your sincerity, and her mouth splits into a sharp-toothed grin.

“You’re damn right we did. What do you say we do what we came here for and enjoy this fancy shindig?”

You’re one step ahead of her, grabbing two cups of wine from the banquet table and handing her one.

“Hell yes.”

 

You cheers.

The wine is warm and tastes as sweet as victory. And every cup after the first only tastes sweeter.

Soon enough your skull is swimming pleasantly and the ball is in full swing with couples swirling about the floor. You suppose you should ask Terezi to dance. It’s the polite thing to do, of course.

 

“Are you going to ask me to dance yet?” She asks with a wry smile as if she read your damn mind.

You roll your eyes and offer her your hand.

“May I have this dance, Lady Pyrope?”

“Oh my, what a gentletroll. Yes you may.”

Her signature smile is infectious. She takes your hand and you lead her to the floor. Time to put all those late night dancing lessons from Kanaya to good use.

 

Despite the wine in your system and the nerves and the crowd, you surprise yourself. Your posture is straight and you are light on your feet as you lead her confidently about the floor, and she giggles in delight. You try to fight it but fail, and you start laughing too. By the time the song is finished the two of you are giggling like idiots and soliciting stares, but fuck these snobs who don’t know how to have fun.

You finish the dance with a bow, and when you straighten up, you spot him for the first time.

 

Prince Gamzee had finally shown up to his own ball.

 

A murmur passes through the crowd as he is spotted, and with everyone’s gaze upon him he looks incredibly awkward. You continue to dance with Terezi but your eyes are on him, watching as he makes a beeline for the nearest server and takes a cup of wine off their tray, downing it in one go.

“His Grace?” Terezi asked you in a hushed tone, perking her head up as if she had caught his scent. You nod.

“Yes, and he looks almost as out of place here as I do.”

“Poor awkward-looking creature isn’t he?” She said with a slight giggle, and you can’t help but agree whilst also feeling bad about it for some reason.

 

You’ve heard about his father; a hulking fearsome mass of ancient troll. And this is the son that will succeed him? Stood next to him is a blueblood male, about the same age as you, who looks as if he is sweating through his silks. What a strange fucking pair.

The song ends, almost abruptly, and you coast Terezi to a halt. As the next song begins you shake your head and sidle over to the buffet table, but a dashing female seadweller immediately asks for Terezi’s next dance, and she grins at you as she is whisked away.

You stick firmly to the table, cup of wine in one hand and the other one constantly feeding bite-sized canapes into your mouth, trying not to get overwhelmed again. Life in the court is going to be an adjustment, to say the least. And you can only hope and fucking pray that no one gets close enough to see through your illusion.

 

The song ends. Someone next to you clears their throat to catch your attention. You look up.

 

Prince Gamzee is stood right next to you, and your pusher freezes in your chest.

 

“Uh… be excusin me, but…” The Prince begins awkwardly. His voice is husky and not at all like how you thought he would sound.

God, this is it. There’s an executioner waiting behind a curtain for you. You lasted what, an hour? Two hours? You had a good run.

The prince turns to the blueblood over his shoulder, who nods encouragingly.

 

“...Suppose I… may have this dance?”

 

_ Oh. _

 

Well. If the entire court wasn’t staring at you when you first arrived, they certainly are now. You stare at him in shock. He stares back. Across the room, Terezi catches your eye and nods so hard her head might detach from her shoulders.

“Uh. Yeah… Yes. Your Highness.”

Shit. _Shit shit shit._

 

Your first thought is ‘oh no, he’s tall’. You’ve only ever danced with Kanaya and Terezi, though that should be the least of your worries.

But he offers you his hand, running on sheer adrenaline you take it and he leads you back to the floor.

His hands are cold. You hope he doesn’t notice how warm yours are in comparison but there’s hardly time to think about that before the band begins to play and you’re dancing with the prince. The fucking prince. If you ever manage to get a letter out to Kanaya about this she is never going to believe you.

 

“Ya look scared.” He says suddenly, drawing you out of your thoughts.

“Nervous.” You reply. “This is my first ball and I’m not exactly the best dancer.”

He twirls you and breaks out into a wide lopsided grin, enhanced by the smiling paint of the Messiahs that he wears.

“Heh, you ain’t so bad. ‘S your name?”

“Karkat.”

“Pleasure to be meetin’ you Karkat. I uh, didn’t all mean to make you nervous askin’ you to advance, is just… Equi- My advisor insisted I-”

“Mingle with the people?” You finish for him, suddenly weirdly confident in speaking to him.

“Yea,” he chuckles, “and you looked so lonesome by that table, you know?”

You scowl, switching up the dance and leading him in a complex manoeuvre of steps despite your lack of height against him.

“I wasn’t lonely!” Your face feels hot. “I’m um...chaperoning Lady Pyrope and someone else asked for her dance. I was just fine on my own.”

He chuckles, taking the lead back from you yet again.

“Alright little lordling I hear you. I got you now anyways.”

 

It’s so strange. Seconds ago you had every reason to fear this troll, but in this moment you feel like you know him completely. And he’s the exact opposite of terrifying. A poor awkward-looking creature? Damn right. But that’s not a bad thing, you don’t think.

You laugh carelessly and roll your eyes, as if you’re talking with a lifelong friend. The gold brooch in the elaborate shape of his family sign pinned to his lapel is upside down. Just as Terezi did to you earlier, you reach up and straighten it for him as if it were nothing. He looks down at it with a puzzled expression, not realising it had been askew.

“You were crooked.” You shrug.

He looks back up at you, and he laughs, as you come to a graceful stop in the center of the ballroom floor.

 

You’re a little breathless. You release each other and he bows to your first, and you follow suit.

 

Out of the dance, he looks just as gangly and awkward as he did before. You’ll have to work on his confidence, you think to yourself, oddly, as if this isn’t the only time you will ever be this close to the heir of Alternia’s throne.

“Uh. Well. Thank you, Karkat. Hope you enjoy the rest of the party an all.”

“Yeah I should go and find Terez- Lady Pyrope…” You look away to scan the crowd for her bright teal dress, but when you look back he’s gone, shuffled away back to his advisor probably.

 

You needn’t have looked for Terezi. Someone taps your shoulder and you whirl to face her, grinning like an idiot.

 

“What. Was. That?!” She all but shouts, half way between grinning and having her mouth hang open in shock.

“Terezi-” You grab her by the shoulders. “You know all the conciliation ballads the minstrels sing? I think I finally get what they fucking mean.”

She pauses. She laughs. And she claps you on the shoulder.

“Oh Vantas, you poor palestruck sap. Come on, let’s get you some more wine.”

 

More wine sounds like the best thing in the world.

 

You link arms with Terezi and the two of you drink and dance til the suns come up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! I had this chapter sitting completed for a stupid amount of time before I actually remembered to upload it, so that one's on me.
> 
> Thanks always to my good dude Jenny (kraavitz on tumblr) For being my beta reader and the sole driving force that keeps this fic truckin. Finding Karkat and Terezi's voices was highly enjoyable, and you will be seeing more of them.
> 
> As always, my update schedule is back on meaning "I Adore You", my bubbline fic, is next for an update. Check that out if it's your jam. And, as always, if you fancy helping a broke writer out with their debt, head on over to my [tumblr](http://hyrulehobbit.tumblr.com/fics) where you will find a link to my ko-fi to leave me a tip!
> 
> Hobbit.


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